She was nineteen, I was twenty. She was the most beautiful person I’d ever met. It took me months of self-doubt and anguish to get the nerve to ask her out. I said I’d always wanted to ballroom dance in a fountain. Turns out she had too. I showed up in a limo six days later. I was in a hired tux, she in an incredible green strapless. We had champagne and strawberries on the way. We drove to the Hamilton fountains and I escorted her nervously to the waters edge. The night air was cool- the water freezing. We danced to Gertrude’s Dream Waltz. She was shivering. I laid my head on her shoulder. She was warm. I was happy. At the time I thought I was in love.
A week later fucking Mike fucking Lee crawled through her window drunk and they began a month long fuckathon. I bought a huge bottle of Vodka and went round to Fran’s. He opened the door, and I said we were going to drink a vodka shot every 60 seconds until the bottle was empty. He lasted about ten minutes. I think I drank solidly for an hour. Then I vomited on everything, and I do mean everything. Fran’s bed, Fran’s desk, Fran’s floor, Fran’s bathroom, Fran’s couch, Fran. Then I fell over. I was sick for the next week. I couldn’t even smell vodka for the next year without wanting to retch.
So tonight, I’ve lined up fifteen shots of loverly vodka, for I’m sure that was the drunkest I’ve ever been. I’m keeping the bottle at the end of bar for Doctor Pockless to hook into at his leisure.
Mixed shots await for Estee– I’ve purchased her this excellent Shot Glass Chess Set– vodka for my side, random coloured goodness for her side- each time a piece is taken, we have to shoot it. We’ll be playing that for the next hour or so in the corner, discussing the temporal conciousness illusion with theories that get more ridiclous the more we drink.
Absinthe for Not That Adrian. There’s a special recipe I picked up from the Notting Hill Arts Bar, they call it a Bloody Nose (why? Because if you drink it, you get a bloody nose). Dash of tomato juice, shitload of tabsco, and absinthe. Lovely stuff, I would join you (I am a huge absinthe fan), but you shouldn’t mix (first thing my dad ever taught me!).
Angel gets a Jim Beam and Soda, presumably because we’re out of coke, and my gracious hostess Karen gets a bottle of sparkling wine to share with her sweetheart and her memories. Spengy, presumably afraid of all these spirits flying around, gets a frosty mug of beerski. Master of Dan’s Destiny Dragon gets two of `em, Heineken-flavoured.
May I make a toast to my blogging partner in absentia, currently watching her invigilators play tag, I gather. I put a Long-Island Iced Tea in front of her empty barstool, in the hope that she may show up later to claim it.
Thanks for letting me shout from your soap-box for a few days, `borkas, it was fun. I learned that no-one knows why they `blog, Vaughn likes vicars, Jack’s a virgin (once again), and when given the opportunity to direct the course of a young man’s life, Uborkites will…..ask his opinion?!? Good luck taking over the world with that attitude!
Over & out,
d